A/N: I know, this isn't the second chapter, but it is something that hit me in the head one night on a whim, so yeah. Here it is! This might end up a series of unrelated one-shots and drabbles that come to me randomly, so be on the lookout for more. As always, a huge thanks to all who have read and/reviewed my stories; your support is invaluable. Feedback always welcome!
Disclaimer: I do not own Nurarihyon no Mago or its characters. However, I do own little Arata, so please refrain from borrowing the little guy without my direct permission.
Summary: A glimpse into the affairs of the Keikain estate and the infamous apparition that haunts its halls. Told from the perspective of its newest and youngest member.
Devil in the Wall
Since leaving his family's home to take his place in their extended lineage, Arata has quickly become accustomed to the goings-on of the Keikain Main House. He knows the faces, if not the names, of all the major players, and with careful consideration and the fortunate narrow escape, he has learned to skillfully avoid those same threatening individuals.
Ryuuji-sama is a trickster. Every word that forms on his tongue is to be coated in salt and thrown over the shoulder, and Arata has a number of first-hand accounts to the wicked machinations the older man whispers into the ears of his young subordinates. Even now, he can see the underlings of Ryuuji-sama practicing their jutsu, their eyes crossed and their legs bent like crickets, because their diligent leader convinced them that the position would heighten their awareness and multiply their natural talents twenty-fold.
Arata takes an hour each day out of his schedule to thank the gods for gifting him a wisdom beyond his years.
Mamiru-sama (Ryuuji-sama's right hand, Arata has heard some call him) is an enigma. His bright hair and glowing yellow eyes remind him of yokai, yet the inhabitants of the main house treat him as their own, so he prudently steers his opinions inward. The slender man is almost always wandering the grounds with single-minded determination, like a wolf protecting his pack, waiting for the moment an enemy appears to challenge them. Arata finds his devotion admirable, and once, he followed the lightening onmyoji as he made his rounds, keeping close to the manicured bushes for fear of being seen. He didn't know what he could hope to witness, but he was dumb-founded to see the tall man seat himself down at the edge of the compound, long legs crossed in the position of lotus, arms limp by his knees. For an indeterminate amount of time, Mamiru-sama stayed thus, completely and utterly still, glowing eyes closed and form relaxed. Before he was aware, Arata was jerking awake to the chirps of cicadas, his back stiff and his short limbs unresponsive. Mamiru-sama stood over him, expressionless eyes trained on him, before he bent and held out his gloved hand, offering assistance.
"You should watch where you choose to rest," he murmured, voice a soft monotone as he pulled the child to his feet. "If there were an attack, you would be left vulnerable." Then he left.
Arata never did find out what the man was doing that day, but he figures it to be for the best.
Wise Akifusa-sama is no better understood than Mamiru-sama, but at least he offers a smile and kind word when addressed. Truth be told, Arata has only seen the First Seal's guardian a handful of times since his arrival six months prior, and he is told that the man spends most of his time divided between his study and his duties. The more seasoned members speak of a secret lab deep in the confines of the grounds, where Akifusa-sama retires to work on various experiments. The rumors remind him of the gossip at home, his mother's mentions of the onmyoji's dabble in the forbidden arts and its terrible consequences years ago, but here and now, the man seems revered, even if he is the subject of numerous late-night ghost stories. He often provides his wisdom for those young and courageous enough to request it, and Arata cannot help but wonder what life secrets Akifusa-sama tells them, wine-red eyes gleaming with intelligence and the smallest hint of humor, as if he knows the tales told in his wake.
Since coming here, young Arata has heard a myriad of rumors, each more outrageous than its predecessors, and the majority of those tales somehow involve at least one of those three men.
But even those stories fail to match the magnitude of the rumor surrounding the beautiful Lady Keikain.
Yura-sama is a prism, capable of anything and everything, and Arata would be lying if he denied the reddening of his cheeks and the stuttering of his breath whenever he came into her vicinity. Her dark eyes are always sharp, always seem to be looking for a way to better the clan, its individuals, and herself.
In his entire eight years, Arata has yet to meet anyone so dedicated to her work, so faithful to those under her charge.
Which begs the question: why would someone as dedicated, as faithful, as indomitable as Yura-sama, ever fall victim to a mere yokai's whims?
The gossip is interchangeable, of course. One source says that Yura-sama met a yokai long ago in her youth, one that possessed her mind and forced her to do its bidding. Even now, the demon appears to remind her of their contract, should she ever stray.
It's the most ridiculous tale to swallow, as it is known region-wide that Lady Keikain answers to no one, let alone some lowly demon.
From there, the rumors morph into more believable renditions, though the beginning always remains the same. There remains a yokai from the Lady's past, and somehow, he has the power to stealthily evade any security, any defense, like an eel slides its lithe body through a hunter's net.
It is absurd, but it is also the only part of the story that continues to be labeled truth.
After overhearing the rumors told by the older onmyoji for the last time, Arata gathers the bravery to approach Akifusa-sama about the infamy of this ayakashi; he is flabbergasted to find the same look of humored thoughtfulness envelop the man's face before he tells the boy to seek his answers elsewhere. He sends him off with a secretive smile.
When he approaches Mamiru-sama about the same issue, the silent man's fingertips crackle with yellow lightening before Arata describes the yokai's rumored characteristics, garnet eyes and a long mane of dual-toned hair. Immediately, the onmyoji's threat simmers, and he blankly eyes the youngster before calmly shaking his head.
"Not a threat," he murmurs, and he sends the child to his next lesson none the wiser.
Later in the week, while the other trainees pretend to devour the text laid out before them, Arata discreetly makes his way to the front of the hall, his socks sliding on the gleaming wood floor. He stops in front of Ryuuji-sama, who arches an eyebrow when the boy remains silent, wringing his hands into his hakama. "Well," he demands, "what do you want?"
And with a deep breath, Arata releases his frustrations. "There's an ayakashi stalking Keikain-sama!"
The other students drop their scrolls in surprise, and each leans forward on his or her cushion to better hear their teacher's response. They've all heard the rumors; finally attaining answers would be the ultimate treat.
For a moment, Ryuuji-sama only stares, his thick eyebrow arched. But slowly, his features morph into a scowl, and he slams his gauntleted hands against the floor and abruptly stands. Arata jumps, heart in his throat, and shuts his eyes to receive the punishment for his audacity. Instead, the older man storms away, his voice echoing off the far walls.
"That ass is here again?!" And Arata watches, stunned, as Ryuuji-sama charges away, leaving his students to quickly memorize the curses falling from his lips like water.
Eventually, another elder enters the hall and instructs them to return to their rooms for independent study. As they move single-file to what the students call "The Barracks," Arata spots his instructor in heated debate with none other than Yura-sama, their faces inches apart.
Even with her features twisted in irritation, the Lady is beautiful. Her ink-black hair tumbles down her back in shiny strands that distinguish her pale skin and vibrant white haori. Her frustration has her slender, calloused hands planted on her hips, her legs widened to accommodate her balance as she leans further into her brother's space, voice rising in tandem with his, cheeks blooming an angry red.
Arata's face enflames with the sight, and he ducks his head before his friends take notice and tease him for his well-known crush. But as the children round the corner, he can't resist one last look over his shoulder, his steps slowing as he notices another figure grouped together with his superiors.
A man stands right behind Yura-sama, several inches taller and wiry in figure. His clothes are from the outside, a simple shirt and pants, and a pair of round glasses roosts on his nose. His lightly tanned skin is framed by brown shocks of hair, two shades from his crown to his nape. Arata does not recognize this stranger, and he slows his march to observe more.
Where does this man come from? Why is he here? And why does he stand so intimately close to Lady Keikain, completely relaxed in their close proximity?
Arata's thoughts buzz over the possibilities, some of which send jealousy spiking through his gut, when the stranger suddenly locks eyes with him, his round spectacles catching the light in a bright flash. The boy is surprised to see such a kind face, and he blinks when the man lifts his hand in a friendly wave, mouth smiling.
He can only stare in return before cautiously lifting his arm to return the gesture, at a loss for what else to do. The stranger's smile brightens before he breaks eye contact and returns to the scene at hand; his expression is amused as he watches the squabbling siblings, and Arata sees another grin form as the voices once again rise in pitch. The man lifts a hand to lay it gently against Yura-sama's shoulder, whether to get her attention or offer support, Arata is unsure. But the gesture seems to work somewhat; Yura-sama's shoulders gradually unwind from their tense positions, though she shows no other outward change as she continues shouting in her brother's face.
Arata finally rounds the corner and jogs to catch up to his peers. But even as he falls in step with them, his thoughts continue to wander in the direction of the adult trio poised outside in the sunshine.
Who is that man, he wonders. And what connection does he have to the great Lady Yura?
Somewhere in the back of his mind, Arata vows to find out.
His chance appears in the wee hours of a Friday night, as he listens to the toss and turn of his roommates. In the distance, a wolf howls and a koi fish splashes in its pond, and Arata takes their nighttime noises as a sign to proceed through his plan. Quietly, he tosses the sheets aside, rises from his futon, and carefully tiptoes his way around small bodies to the shoji doors. He breathes a sigh of relief as he stands in the hallway and sees the coast clear. With a courage-giving nod to himself, he navigates his way across the Keikain grounds, small feet leading him to the Main House's bedchambers, where his target haunts. He avoids the sentries dotting the walkways, their paces slow and cumbersome enough in the summer heat to allow his slight frame to bypass them with minimal trouble.
He arrives at his destination. He wipes the sweat from his brow and pushes his wet bangs from his forehead; his young face is determined. He will be the one to catch this demon of the night and keep his precious Lady from being harmed. He swears it to the winking stars and the half-moon visible through the wispy clouds.
Just as he climbs onto the veranda, he sees a sneak of movement in his periphery. He whips his head to the right, where the hall leads into the darkness of the inner chambers, and catches the glimmer of something as it bleeds into the black.
Ah, there is the culprit!
Steeling his gut, Arata takes off in the direction of the ghost, his nerves thrumming with the thrill of the hunt, and he pursues the creature unwaveringly as it leads him down a multitude of twists and turns. His honed senses allow him to navigate with surprising success, but as the minutes pass and the trail grows cold, Arata slowly loses his confidence. He begins to wonder if the chase will ever end, as his legs begin to cramp and his heart thumps with exertion. Just as he considers taking a rest, he reaches the point of no return.
The head chambers.
Here, the trail stops, and Arata's heart flutters in his chest as he thinks of the danger that could be lurking the corners of that room, just waiting to devour his precious leader's soul. With renewed energy, the boy prepares to charge the room's interior, heedless of the consequences, when he abruptly pauses.
There are voices within those walls. Two, if he hears them correctly.
Confused, Arata slinks closer to the ornate doors, ear cocked to the goings-on inside.
One voice definitely belongs to his Yura-sama, as it rings with a power that is both deadly and benevolent. The other voice…
Whose is it? It is not one he recognizes, no matter how many times he shuffles through his memories. But he is startled to find it deep and masculine; a man's voice, calm and self-assured, with a hint of devil's seduction.
There is no doubt; this is the yokai haunting the Lady. But why is she so unaffected by his presence? Why does she sound so relaxed, not at all angry or fearful of the creature invading her space?
Could that outrageous rumor be true? Is she possessed?
Arata immediately shakes his head, hair whipping his face. No, that can't be it. She is merely biding her time, luring the ayakashi into a false sense of control, waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike.
Yes, that must be it. But the urge to protect still envelops Arata's heart. He will assist the Lady in this endeavor, protect her if need be.
Resolute in his plan, Arata prepares himself to barge into the danger zone, his breath rapid and small body shaking with adrenaline.
Before he can take even the first step, it appears in front of him.
The darkness hides the majority of its form, but Arata briefly makes out the beast-yellow of its glowing irises, the white shock of hair billowing behind its tall, lean figure like a flag, the deep indigo of the haori that lies across its broad shoulders.
That is all Arata can see before the creature literally dissolves into the darkness, the air barely stirring with its departure.
The next moment, he's off his feet. The hallway blurs and disappears from his sight, his heart stops, and an instant after he opens his mouth to scream, the world returns in a blur of color and he hits the floor with a light thump.
For a time, he keeps his eyes closed, too afraid and ashamed to face the demon that has him in its clutches. The sting of tears presses against his eyelids as he thinks of his Lady and his failure…
"Arata-kun?!"
…He blinks. Was that his Lady? Slowly, Arata opens his eyes completely and surveys his surroundings. The room is large and spacious; pushed against its walls are bureaus and dressers, floor-length shelves overflowing with scrolls and tomes. In one corner, piles of colorful blankets cover a plush futon, and a small low-legged table in the center of the room provides a solid surface for the kettle and two teacups that sit atop it.
And sitting on one side of that table is Yura-sama, safe and whole and unharmed.
"…Keikain-sama!"
Arata launches himself at her, small arms wrapping around her middle in a complete disregard for the rules taught to him. In heart throbbing relief, he presses his face into her bosom, fingers digging into the soft, thin material of her yukata. "I'm so glad you're okay!" is what he tries to say, but his voice shakes like a feather in the wind, turning the words into a jumble of incoherent syllables. Not the mark of a hero, but in his joy, he can't care less.
"Arata-kun?" Yura-sama's tone reveals her utter confusion, but she wraps her wiry arms around his back, securing him to her person; Arata burrows even closer, blissful. "Why wouldn't I be okay? And what are you doing here and out of bed?"
"I never took you for the mothering type, Yura."
At the sound of that voice, Arata's rapture breaks, and his head whips around to glare miniature daggers at the intruder. The same dark specter from the hallway lounges nearby, gold-leaf eyes narrowed in amusement and pale lips quirked in a smirk. "Ayakashi," the boy snarls, face scrunched in anger, and the yokai's smirk widens. Looking back to his Lady, he finds her face morphed in a light scowl, annoyance sparking her dark brown eyes.
The decision is made. Now that his Lady is safe, he can return to his previous plan and exorcise this demon before he causes trouble.
In haste, Arata breaks his hold on Yura-sama's waist and pounces. Remembering his training, he reaches into the large sleeve of his yukata and removes two ofuda, clutching them between his fingers as he calls on his enchantment.
"Yokai! Be go-!" Mid-incantation, Arata is again hoisted into the air, this time by his leg. As he yells out and tries to get free, the yokai's face appears before him, smirk still on his lips and an eyebrow raised.
"Oh? You plan to destroy me, huh?"
"Anything to protect my Lady, you bastard!" With quick movements, Arata twists his body, pulls back his arm, and sends it careening for the man's forehead. With a resounding smack, the ofuda clings to his white hairline, and the boy huffs in triumph for his success in the exorcism and mentally pats his back for also remembering one of Ryuuji-sama's profanities.
Admittedly surprised, the ayakashi regards him silently before releasing a loud chuckle and swinging him in Yura-sama's direction. "Kid's got spunk, I'll give him that. His loyalty to you is ridiculous."
Arata is flabbergasted. How did his enchantment not work? Why is the intruder not reduced to a pile of sooty ash? He stares at the ayakashi from his upside-down position, mouth agape, and then shifts his observation to Yura-sama, who looks crossed between humor, frustration, and concern. The boy pouts, feeling thoroughly defeated. "I'm sorry, Keikain-sama. I couldn't protect you."
With a noise between a heavy sigh and a chuckle, Yura-sama reaches for him, and the yokai fairly dumps him in her arms. Once secured, Arata clutches at her robe and rests his head against her shoulder, a good vantage to continue glaring as she pats his back in comfort.
"Arata-kun?" His attention immediately shifts to his Lady, and her expression is curious. "Where did you get the idea that I was in danger?"
"From the rumors the older members talk about. They said there was a ghost that kept trying to hurt you." At the word 'ghost', he shifts his gaze to the intruder, who smirks back.
"A ghost? Seems the onmyoji are having fun with their interpretations of my trips."
"Maybe if you actually scheduled your trips here like a proper visitor, people wouldn't think you were so shifty."
He shrugs. "Not my style. You know that."
Arata cuts in eagerly. "You're gonna destroy him, right, Keikain-sama?"
"Sometimes I think I should," he hears her mutter, and the yokai chuckles. "But no." She smiles at Arata's shocked gaze. "This yokai isn't a bad one, Arata-kun. He's just a nuisance."
Arata looks up at his Lady to see her gaze confident and assured, and then at the ayakashi watching them from the other side of the table. He doesn't understand her logic, as all of his sources have told him of yokai and their evil natures. How can one of them be 'good'?
Yura-sama, however, seems sure in her statement, and this stranger doesn't seem like such a threat to her. Why would she allow him so close to her if she thought he were less than trustworthy?
Going through the deductions, Arata finally nods. "Okay, Keikain-sama."
His former opponent snickers. "Didn't take much to convince you, did it?"
Ignoring her companion, his Lady's face brightens at his reply, her pink lips curling with fondness, and he beams back, happy to have made her smile. "Good. Now," and her voice regains its firmness, "you need to return to bed. I still don't know how you made it all the way here, but no one your age needs to be out this late." With that, she places him back on his feet and offers him her hand. As Arata happily grabs hold, she turns to the ayakashi. "I'll be back, Rikuo. Don't smoke in here."
The man rises to his feet, arranging his clothing into a more secure hold. "I think I'll join you, actually. A woman and child shouldn't be left to roam the darkness alone."
She snorts. "How noble of you."
"As if you expect less." He steps toward them, hand lifting to flick her forehead, when Arata uses his free arm to push at the man's hakama-clad leg. When they make eye contact, the boy scowls.
The yokai lifts an eyebrow before smirking. "Possessive little thing." His eyes glint roguishly. "She was mine first, you know."
"No, I wasn't." Yura-sama strikes his entitlement down immediately, her arid tone killing any chance for retort, and Arata levels a smug look at the ayakashi and squeezes her fingers as they set out into the darkness.
As if some yokai could ever claim to possess his Lady.